


Sixteen Clumsy and Shy

by orphan_account



Series: Half a Person [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst, Dean gets jealous, Dean just wants to be a good brother, Everyone feels guilty and ashamed until they don't anymore, Fluff and Angst, Hipster Castiel, John is a bounty hunter, M/M, Masturbation, Sam is adorable and perfect, Sibling Incest, Teacher Castiel, Teacher-Student Relationship, Wincestiel Endgame, hahaha I am the worst I can't believe I am titling this shit after a Smiths song
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:32:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is Sam's hot and compassionate and wonderful history teacher who can't help but be charmed by the tall skinny awkward enthusiastic kid who's smart and sincere and adorable. Sam is trying to deal with his crush on his older brother. Dean is trying to deal with his crush on his younger brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Halloween

**Author's Note:**

  * For [homosadpornien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosadpornien/gifts).



> There will be eventual Dean/Cas, but this story is primarily going to be Sam/Cas with a ton of Dean and Sam pining for each other without realizing the other one feels the same way. This is part 1 of a 3 part (probably) series that is a slower than slow burn leading to Sam/Dean/Cas.
> 
> Sam is underage and there are graphic depictions of him doing sexual stuff while he is underage, some of which he does alone and some of which he does with adult people. So if you aren't into that, don't read this!
> 
> btw Sam is 15 at the start of the story  
> Dean is 19  
> Castiel is 27
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you thank you to my wonderful friend [homosadpornien](http://archiveofourown.org/users/homosadpornien/pseuds/homosadpornien) for being the most supportive sad porn loving friend I could ever ask for.
> 
> Title is taken from the Smiths song "Half a Person" which is incidentally the title of the series!

“Come on Sammy,” Dean said, ruffling Sam not Sammy’s hair while Sam tried to bat his hands away. “I know it’s another new school, but this job’s gonna take Dad at least 6 months. Get in there and make some friends.”

Sam hastily tried to fix his hair. “Whatever Dean,” he said sullenly, unfolding his long skinny legs and stepping out of the Impala awkwardly. Sam thought he’d hated being short and looking like a little kid. When he started rapidly growing in height over the summer, he thought he’d come out the other end looking like Dean-- strong, manly, adult, non-freakish-- not six feet of uncoordinated skinny arms and legs. At least when he was short, Sam didn’t trip over himself constantly, or hit his head on too low car roofs. If he didn’t pay attention to what his body was doing, he’d forget how long his arms were and knock things over, or stretch his legs out and kick someone sitting nearby. Now he was hyper-conscious of how much space he was taking up, made sure to move carefully and sit hunched over so he didn’t feel so huge. He gave Dean a nervous wave and started to walk away.

“Hey Sam! Try not to let everyone see what a big freak you are on your first day!” Sam turned and tried to give him a Warning Look of Doom. Dean’s face softened. “We still on for all night monster movies and eating candy til we puke?” Oh right. It was Halloween. Sam gave him a genuine smile and nodded before walking up the steps into school.

* * *

Castiel Novak double checked the jack o lantern pail on his desk to make sure it was full of candy, and added a little bit of shading to the witches hat he’d put on a chalk stick figure on the board. One minute until the bell. He grabbed the cheap halo headband and put it on, enjoying the silent empty classroom for a few second before the bell rang and his day erupted in chaos.

Castiel had always loved Halloween. He’d never been one for dressing up in an elaborate costume, but he enjoyed seeing the glimmer of hungry mischief in people’s eyes. He liked that people felt freer to experiment with who they are on Halloween. Ten minutes until class started, but kids were already starting to file in and take their seats in his sophomore AP European history class. Not everyone was in costume, but more than half were, chattering excitedly about their evening’s plans, already a little high on sugar at 9 AM. “Aw Mr. Novak your costume sucks! You should have seen Ms. Rafael. She had a FIERY SWORD.” Of course she did. His colleague always seemed to have a flair for drama.

“Sorry to disappoint you Jenna,” Castiel said with a shrug to a 15 year old Snow White in stilettos heels and a microminiskirt. So he was just wearing his usual ill-fitting suit and a halo. The history department all dressed up as angels every year and the English department all went as demons. No one could remember why, but it had been this way for at least 50 years. There are pictures in every yearbook to prove it. Before anyone else could criticize his costume, the bell rang and everyone quieted down and took their seats.

“So today I have you for a whole 90 minutes, and since you all did so well on your last essay, we’re not doing any schoolwork today.” He paused and let a few people cheer, several craning their necks to see if there was a TV cart nearby. Castiel pulled out his iPod and docked it into the small speakers on his desk. “We’re not going to be watching a movie,” a couple of groans at that but what can you do, “OR going over the history of Halloween,” and some sighs of relief. “We’re going to listen to the 1938 War of the Worlds radio broadcast. I know it’s not European, but it is history. And will always be one of the greatest pranks of all time.” That caught their attention. He smiled and gave a little bit of background on Orson Welles, the Mercury Theater, and H. G. Wells before pressing play and leaning back in his seat to listen to the familiar broadcast for the billionth time. He could hear some book bags rustling and pencils writing on paper. Castiel didn’t mind if some kids were catching up on homework or passing notes.

A tall skinny kid walked into the room and approached Castiel cautiously, handing him a slip of paper without speaking a word. Oh. A new student. Sam Winchester. Castiel pointed to an empty desk in the back of the room and the new kid-- Sam nodded solemnly. Castiel was about to close his eyes again when Sam tripped over a backpack and knocked into a wall, managing to stay on his feet until he got to the empty desk. Which creaked audibly as he sat in it and every time he adjusted his weight or moved the desk to try to get himself more comfortable. Every time it creaked, a few people giggled, until Sam Winchester’s face was dark red. Castiel shushed the offending parties and tried to get back to enjoying the program, glancing around the room periodically. He eyed the new student form. Sam Winchester. Transfer from Iowa. Huh. Sam Winchester was also looking at a piece of paper. Probably his class schedule. Poor kid looked miserable. His jeans were too loose but also too short. He was wearing at least 3 shirts, not including his coat. His dark brown hair was shaggy and hung down over his eyes. None of his clothes fit. Castiel hoped silently that Sam Winchester would be happy here, and leaned back again, letting Orson Welles wash over him.

* * *

Sam’s day was already sucking before he failed the surprise obstacle course in his history class. And OF COURSE his history teacher had to be gorgeous. Messy dark brown hair, perfectly sculpted jaw, big blue eyes. Young too. Probably not even 30 yet. AND he was having them listen to Orson Welles’ War of the Worlds on Halloween, which meant he was cool. Maybe he was nice. Maybe wouldn’t judge Sam too harshly for being a big freaky klutz, unlike the kids who’d laughed at him. Sam studied the little schedule in his hand and tried to map out how to get to his other classes from there. He’d already picked up his textbooks from the library and put them in his new locker. He had to get halfway through Tess of the d’Urbervilles by Monday. His English teacher Mr. Crowley said didn’t have to take the quiz the same day as everyone else, but he said it in that way that challenged him to get through the book in time. He’d been wearing a suit too, but his was fancier than Mr. Novak’s, and he’d been wearing devil horns. What was with this place and the angels and devils? Some of the other kids were eyeing him curiously. Sam met their glance cautiously and shot a couple of them what he hoped was a friendly smile. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here after all?

The show was almost over. Sam had heard it before once or twice, on the highway, stuck in the backseat of the Impala instead of out trick or treating like a normal kid the night of Halloween. His dad had told him about how lots of people thought it was a real broadcast when it first aired. Dean had announced that those people were idiots, and Sam had smiled, always one to appreciate a great prank. Sam liked the end especially, when Orson Welles apologized in a way that communicated that he wasn’t sorry at all. A few kids laughed. Mr. Novak had his eyes half shut and was grinning ear to ear. He had dimples. When the show ended, more than a few kids clapped. Sam noticed that almost every girl in the room had her eyes glued to Mr. Novak as he jumped out of his chair and got a class discussion going pretty easily about what everyone thought of it. The class was still talking animatedly about it when the bell rang and they all bolted for the door. Sam got out of his desk carefully and walked to the front of the room. “Uh Mr. Novak?”

“Hi! So you are...Sam Winchester. And I bet you’re looking to get caught up.” Mr. Novak opened a file drawer in his desk and pulled out a three ring binder. He chatted cheerfully at Sam as he flipped through the pages, asking friendly basic questions, how’s your first day going, did you just get into town, did you drive or fly from Iowa. Sam was able to answer with one word each (okay, yes, drive) until Mr. Novak asked how he’d liked the radio drama, apologizing that Sam had missed the beginning. “Oh...uh...I mean I’ve heard it before,” Sam was trying to sound casual but worrying he sounded dismissive, quickly added on, “like a few times. It’s pretty great! I like the end especially though, when he’s apologizing but he totally isn’t sorry at all.” Mr. Novak smiled and nodded, adding xeroxed copies of book pages to the growing pile on his desk. Sam guessed that meant he should keep talking? “Uh yeah...I saw him once in a movie.” Mr. Novak looked up at him inquisitively, his head tilted a little to the side.

“Citizen Kane?” he offered.

“No, no, it was umm,” Sam racked his brains trying to remember the title. The very simple title. “He was this other guy’s friend and the camera was kind of at a weird angle a lot, and everyone thought he was dead but he wasn’t. It’s set during the Cold War in Austria? Germany?” Sam realized he’d been babbling.

“The Third Man,” Mr. Novak said authoritatively.

“Yeah!” Sam said a little too loud. “The Third Man!” Mr. Novak was smiling and looking right at him.

“That’s a great movie. Did your parents show it to you?” Sam tried not to let his face fall at the mention of parents.

“No. It was just on tv once and I haven’t seen a lot of old movies you know, but most of the ones I’ve seen have been really good, so I figured it was worth a shot.”

“I don’t show movies very often in class, but I might show a couple of things this year. I hope you’ll like them.” Mr. Novak handed him a huge stack of paper. “Here are all the handouts everyone else has gotten so far. Mostly primary source material. This top packet is what we’re working on right now, but I’d like you to take a look at what we’ve already covered so you can refer to it throughout the year. The only thing you’re missing are some color copies of a few paintings we’re looking at. I can give them to you on Monday unless you want to come back at lunch.”

“I’ll just stop by at lunch. Thanks!”

Mr. Novak pointed Sam in the right direction so he could get to math next. Sam may have waved a little too enthusiastically at him, but Mr. Novak seemed like a really nice guy.

* * *

 After dropping Sam off at school, Dean had driven around a little bit, just getting a feel for the area. Massachusetts was pretty in the fall, scenery straight out of a calendar. He stopped at a couple of diners that looked good, drinking coffee and looking through the local paper for an apartment for him and Sammy. He was proud of himself for figuring something out with Dad where Sam could have almost a whole schoolyear in the same place. He’d even done research to make sure they’d be sending Sam to one of the better high schools in the area. Dad would be plenty busy with jobs all over New England, and Dean was close enough that he could drive over and help out on pretty short notice. Sammy would be able to really focus on schoolwork and maybe join academic decathlon or something equally nerdy that Dean could tease him about. Maybe he could make a few friends, learn how to talk to girls, have at least a taste of normal teenage life before they uprooted again and got back on the road to find their mom’s killer.

Dean circled a few listings in the paper: a two bedroom house for rent about a mile and a half from Sam’s new school and a couple of one bedroom apartments that were closer. He finished the rest of his coffee (definitely the best cup he’d had all day-- he’d have to come back to this place), left some money on the table and left, winking flirtatiously at the elderly Polish waitress as he walked out the door.

* * *

 Sam’s day continued to improve. He sat behind one of the friendly kids from history, Kevin, in pre-calc. The advanced classes here were much bigger than the ones he’d been used to, full of overachieving jocks and popular kids, not just nerds. Kevin was cool though. His hair was even longer than Sam’s. They were taking almost the exact same course load, so they exchanged numbers after class. Kevin even invited Sam to eat lunch with him, but Sam had to go and talk to teachers about getting caught up.

He didn’t have a whole lot to do actually. Since the AP tests were done nationally, the curriculum at every school was almost the same. The teachers seemed pretty nice too, for the most part. Okay so maybe the way Mr. Crowley talked about authors making their characters suffer was a little creepy, and he never ever wanted to get on Ms. Masters’ bad side, but Monsieur Lafitte complimented his accent and gave him some short stories to read, and when Sam introduced himself to Miss Bradbury, she interrupted him to ask if he was interested in building robots. He still had 20 more minutes of his lunch period left when he headed back to Mr. Novak’s room.

* * *

Castiel could have made copies of the paintings and given them to Sam well before it was time for the next class, but after talking to the kid a little bit and seeing how he handled himself, Castiel guessed there was about a 10% chance Sam wasn’t going to get his ass kicked if he tried to eat lunch on the lawn or patio. The school’s bullying problem wasn’t the worst Castiel had ever seen, but Sam practically had “easy prey” written in huge letters across his face, and Halloween didn’t bring out the best in everyone. Five minutes into the lunch period, Castiel’s classroom had about ten kids (all in costume) sitting in different parts of the room. Some of them reading silently while eating, a few of them talking animatedly about Magic cards. A freshman girl with huge eyes and a round face sat in the corner alone reading manga. Castiel wasn’t sure when his classroom became a secret nerd safe haven, but he didn’t really mind. Not all of them were even his students, but they were relatively good kids. He started in on his sandwich and checked some news blogs, nodding hello as each small cluster of students crossed the threshold.

“Uh, hi Mr. Novak, I’m here about those color copies?” Sam Winchester actually looked to be in better spirits. Kevin Tran waved at him from across the room, and Sam’s face broke into a smile that was almost blinding-- all teeth and dimples and wide hopeful puppy eyes. Castiel felt a small wave of relief that this kid had already found a friend. He stuck his head into the hallway and flagged down Charlie asking her to watch the room for him while he took Sam and a hefty stack of expensive art books to the copy room. Sam watched silently as Castiel made copies. Medieval triptychs, renaissance sculpture and painting. He answered his teacher’s questions with one word answers, standard teenager stuff, but the sincerity in Sam’s eyes when he took the packet from Castiel’s hands and thanked him was anything but standard. As Castiel watched Sam’s lanky awkward form retreat into the hallway, he felt a pang of affection, hoping hard that the kid wouldn’t have too hard a time.

* * *

 Sam walked the two miles back to the motel after school, letting himself enjoy crunching fallen leaves under his feet. His first day had actually been good. He had already made friends. Sure, Dean’ll make fun of him mercilessly for managing to befriend the smartest kid in school on his first day, but what didn’t Dean make fun of him over? Overall, it had been a good first day. He hadn’t even gotten into a fight with anyone. Sam walked by the motel office and noticed the woman at the desk and a couple of the maids were staring intently out the window into the parking lot. He didn’t have to follow their eyeline to know what they were looking at.

Of course Dean would want to wash the dust of the road off of his beloved Impala. Of course he would do it in plain sight, shirtless in New England October, bent over the hood in tight jeans. Because that was Dean. Sam wouldn’t say he was used to it, because you can’t really ever get used to the sight of your older brother, sweat-glinting in the afternoon sun, well muscled and still tanned and freckled from summer, stroking the body of his car with reverence, sometimes even muttering sweet nothings to her as he did it. Sam would never really get used to the feeling of his cock jumping in his jeans and his face getting hot as images and hypotheticals flooded his mind. Sam wished he could treat Dean the way Dean treated the Impala, hands and mouth moving slowly and lovingly over Dean’s body. Sam had loved to cuddle with his brother his whole life. Loved to feel Dean’s strong arms around him and looked forward to the day when he’d be able to wrap his own strong arms around Dean, have Dean feel the same way that Sam felt about him. Sam never got used to the loss of frequent physical contact. He missed the hugs, the comfort of falling asleep nuzzling Dean’s neck, their legs tangled together. Sam wasn’t used to it, but he’d accepted these things as part of life, and while it still hurt, the hurt was at least familiar, the shame less fresh.

At least Sam’s jeans were loose enough that his hard-on was less obvious. He walked briskly, but still slowly enough not to seem suspicious, to the door of their room, announced that he was going to take a shower, and ducked inside. As he quickly undressed and stepped under the spray, Sam admitted to himself that, while most aspects of his growth spurt sucked royally, the change in his dick and balls was pretty cool. He was pretty sure his cock was bigger than Dean’s, which was awesome. Sam liked the way it looked too-- the way it curved upwards in an arc instead of sticking straight out. At this point, it was the only part of his body that he liked. He soaped up his back with one hand and gripped his cock with the other. Sam’s breath hitched as he let the soapy water slip down his crack, following it with a finger, teasing gently at his hole. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the steam fill his lungs and taking the leash off of his imagination. Sam tried thinking about some of the girls he’d seen at school in their high heels and skimpy costumes, short skirts riding up as they bent over. Dean’s ass was nicer. Sam had felt it the hundreds of times Dean had beat him in a wrestling match and sat on him, arms folded and face triumphant. Sam let himself remember that-- feeling his brother’s weight on him, being overpowered. Dean straddling him like it wasn’t a big deal, pinning Sam’s wrists to the ground with a cocky smile on his face. What if Dean did that and stayed there? Sat there on top of Sam as they both caught their breath. And Dean would bend down and kiss him. Sam could suck on Dean’s soft pillowy lips (Sam could barely remember what they felt like anymore. It had been so long since his brother had pressed a kiss to his forehead.)

Sam started to move his hand up and down the smooth skin of his shaft, thinking about just kissing Dean, wrapping his arms around his brother’s body and really letting himself feel it and enjoy it. Sam would kiss down Dean’s chest, tease his nipples, tongue his abs, and find himself facing Dean’s cock, hard and leaking precome. Sam would take it in his mouth and drive Dean out of his mind. And Dean would pet Sam’s hair like he used to, murmur “I love you Sammy” like he used to. He would pull Dean’s orgasm out of him, drink it down and blow everyone else who’d sucked Dean off out of the water. Sam’s pace was speeding up, he knew he was going to come soon. His fantasy about Dean turned into a frenzy of images, sounds and impressions. Dean moaning audibly through paper thin walls as he fucked some girl in the next room. Dean bent over the Impala in the parking lot. Dean’s lips. Dean’s chest. Dean’s arms. A glimpse at Dean’s cock out of the corner of his eye when he was changing. Dean’s ass in tight black boxer briefs. In jeans. Dean muttering in his sleep, saying “Sammy Sammy Sammy” his voice sleepy but full of love and sadness. A soft moan escaped Sam’s lips. When his orgasm hit, the images in his head sped up and blurred, turning just into bodies slapping together, skin on skin, a thousand indistinct faces contorted in pleasure. Sam gasped, working the sticky white ropes out of his cock, hitting himself in the face and chest, the water already trying to wash it away. He leaned against the shower wall when he was done and caught his breath.

* * *

 When Sam stepped out of the bathroom, a threadbare towel wrapped around his waist, Dean was already sprawled across one of the queen beds, one hand full of candy and the other wrapped around a beer.

“It’s about freaking time Sammy,” he grumbled affectionately. At least he'd put a shirt on. The air in the room was thick with his smell. Sam wanted to wrap himself up in that smell-- that same smell that meant "home" no matter where they were, but instead he wrinkled his nose.

"Dude you reek. Aren't you going to shower?"

Dean rolled his eyes and took a swig of beer. "Such a girl Sammy."

Sam changed into a pair of boxers and a t shirt while Dean ordered two large pizzas over the phone. Sam thought about asking Dean for a beer, but instead decided to walk over to the mini fridge and take one like it was something he did all the time. He'd drunk alcohol before, but never without their dad around. But Dean didn't say anything about it when Sam settled on the other bed with a beer. He took a long drink of the cold, crisp beverage and watched Dean channel surf for sufficient Halloween entertainment.

"Jackpot Sammy!"

Dean had found a local station (it was obvious from the cheap sets and video quality) where a middle aged man with a pot belly was dressed up like Dracula. Classic B movie horror all night long. Dean's face lit up like it was Christmas. Sam smiled. These movies were always fun and cheesy, not like the torture porn stuff Dean had made him watch in the past. When your dad is a bounty hunter, you end up seeing too much real horror to really enjoy the Saw franchise.

Halfway into Bride of the Monster, Sam was on his second beer and he and Dean were howling with laughter. The pizza arrived, and the kid delivering it looked familiar. Gym class maybe? Dean paid the kid before he could get a better look. Sam was red in the face and was more fuzzy around the edges than drunk, but felt great. Happier than he'd felt in a long time. They dug in, stopping periodically between mouthfuls to crack a joke or laugh at a particularly badly integrated piece of stock footage.

"Hey Sammy, you done with your beer?" Dean asked. When Sam nodded, Dean grabbed two bottles from the fridge, opening them both and handing one to Sam. Sam hesitated before taking a drink. The pizza had sobered him up some, but this was definitely the most he'd ever drunk. Whatever. He shrugged and took a long swig, watery beer chasing the salty taste of pizza out of his mouth.

By the end of the movie, there was half a pizza left and Sam was on his fourth beer. "Gotta drain the lizard," Dean said with a goofy smile, getting up to go to the bathroom. Sam wrinkled his nose, but couldn't suppress his smile. After all, he loved Dean! Dean was his big brother! His awesome hot stupid sense of humor big brother who took better care of Sam than anyone. Sam was going to be nicer to his brother, he decided, nodding his head to no one in particular. He cleared the pizza boxes off the beds and got onto the bed on his stomach, feet absent mindedly kicking the headboard.

* * *

 Sam’s voice bellowed through the bathroom door, "Deeeeeaaan you're missing the beginning of Creature from the Black Lagooooooon!" Dean opened the door and plastered a look of fake concern on his face. "Oh no Sammy! Now I won't understand anything that's happening!"

"Jerk." Sam pelted him with a Jolly Rancher.

"Bitch." Dean dodged it and made his way over to the other bed, trying not to look too hard at Sam, who looked good enough to eat. Face flushed and smiling, cute little butt in the air, long legs stretched out, poking the headboard with his toes. Even the little stretch marks behind his knees were sexy to Dean, who had to remind himself again to watch the movie and not check out his tipsy baby brother. He turned away and grabbed a pair of sweats from his duffel, shimmying out of his jeans. Just as he was about to step into them, he was hit in the back of the head by another Jolly Rancher.

"You little shit," he growled, turning around.

"What's wrong Dean?" Sam was still on his stomach, turning his head slightly to give Dean a pair of innocent Disney princess puppy dog eyes that could only mean mischief. Also he was blushing and biting the insides of his cheeks trying not to smile.

"Oh nothing's wrong Sam," Dean said, slowly and casually approaching his brother, sweatpants forgotten on his bed. "Just wanted to clean some of those empty bottles away." Sam's eyes were wide with anticipation, knowing Dean was about to go in for the kill. Dean feinted left and was ready for Sam when he rolled to the right, trying to escape. He rolled right into Dean's other hand, which made quick work of that perfect spot right above Sammy's hipbone.

"Noo," Sam screeched, trying to wiggle away, already laughing himself breathless. Dean had both hands on him now, digging into his sides with the confidence only acquired with a lifetime of tickle wars. Sam was flailing those long legs around, so Dean sat on them. For safety.

"Get. Off. Me. You. Heavy. Asshole," Sam panted between squawks of laughter.

"Sorry Sammy. You shouldn't have started a war if you weren't ready to defend yourself." Sam was laughing so hard he was crying. "Don't act like I'm the bad guy here. You know how to surrender."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I, Princess Samantha, do hereby surrender my forces to the mighty Dean."

"No way Sammy you have to do the girl voice."

Sam shot daggers at Dean with his eyes, but started again in a ridiculous falsetto. "I, Princess Samantha, do hereby surrender my forces to the mighty Dean-"

"King Dean," Dean interrupted with a smirk.

Sam continued glaring hard, "the mighty King Dean, who used his manly military prowess to kick my girly ass-"

"You admit that I'm the most awesome and that you wish you could be awesome like me."

"I admit that Dean is the most awesome and one day aspire to be half the awesome dude he is."

"Zeppelin rules."

"Zeppelin rules."

"The end."

"The end." Sam switched to his regular voice. "Now get the hell off me! You're so weird Dean. Also no one ends a retreat by saying 'the end' that's so stupid."

Dean did get up, ruffling Sam's hair. "Awwww widdwe Samantha's cwanky." He grabbed two more beers from the fridge, opening both and handing one to Sam as a peace offering. But instead of going back to his bed, he settled in his stomach next to Sam. "Scoot over." Sam huffed but relented, and they turned their attentions back to the movie. They watched in silence for the rest of the movie, the only other sounds the swish of beer and the crinkling of candy wrappers as Dean plowed through the bag.

Sam got up and went into the bathroom as the local tv vampire guy introduced the next movie. Dean remembered his sweatpants and put them on before grabbing the bottle of whiskey from his duffel and going back to Sam's bed, leaning back against the headboard and taking a short pull from the bottle. He felt the heat of the booze travel down through his body. The movie started up and Dean bellowed, "oh no Sammy! You're missing the opening credits!" Sam high tailed it out of the bathroom and belly flopped onto the bed, putting his chin on his hands and kicking his legs softly.

"Hey Sasquatch, make sure not to kick me in the face." Sam turned and gave him a bitchface, which melted once he saw the whiskey bottle.

"Can I have some?" There were those wide eyes again. Fuck if Dean could resist the little bastard anything.

"Just a sip Sammy. If you puke you're on your own." Sam took a small drink, flinching as it hit his throat, and then a second one before giving it back. Dean realized he was probably going to regret that. He spaced out, periodically drinking from the bottle, trying not to look at Sam's ass in his tight blue boxers. Dean was rudely brought back to the present by Sam's giant foot smacking him in the face.

"Son of a bitch!"

Sam was laughing, "WOOPS! Sorrry Dean!" Okay. The kid was drunk.

"You've lost feet in my face privileges. Get back here and watch the movie and try not to injure me again." Sam crawled back towards Dean, sitting next to him, still laughing.

"Dean are you even WATCHING this,” Sam slurred, “Jack Nicholson is in Napoleon’s army and none of this makes any sense oh my god this is ssssooo bad!!" Sam slumped against Dean's shoulder, snorting as he laughed about the movie. They stayed like that for a while. Dean's arm started to fall asleep under Sam's weight, but he didnt complain. It was too nice being close with Sam again. At some point when Jack Nicholson was talking to Boris Karloff (what WAS this movie?), Dean noticed Sam's slow even breathing and realized that he'd fallen asleep. The knowledge filled him with warmth that the whiskey could only hint at.

A loud snore from his own mouth was what woke Sam up. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Yes drunky, and you drooled all over my shirt.” Dean tried to hide how sentimental he was feeling by making his voice extra gruff, but the fondness in his tone was still obvious.

Sam smiled mischievously before scooting down the bed. "Sooorrry." Instead of lying down on the pillow, he wrapped his arms around Dean's legs and plopped his head in Dean's lap. With a self satisfied grin he added, "Nighty night Deannn." And snuggled into his brother’s thighs. All Dean could  think as he looked down at his brother's peaceful face was thank god he'd put on those sweatpants.

Sam was gorgeous when he was being a pain in the ass, sure, but his face serene and still flushed with alcohol, eyelashes fanned out over his cheekbones, he looked practically angelic. Dean tentatively gave Sam's hair a gentle pet. Sam made a happy sound, so Dean continued. It was soft. Not the softest hair he'd ever felt, but still pretty soft. Dean had never touched it when it had been this long. Their dad had given the kid hell about the length, but Dean stood up for Sam, pleading with their dad to at least let Sam have this one thing. Dean still gave Sam shit for it all the time, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying combing his fingers through the thick silky waves. And Sam was leaning into his touch like a damned kitten, making happy humming sounds. When Dean used his nails to gently graze Sam's scalp, the boy's breath hitched and then he sighed contentedly. Dean kept going, ghosting the tips of his fingernails across his brothers scalp, making him sigh and gasp a little. He let his fingers drift down to Sammy's ear, where they traced the shell, feather light, making Sam shiver slightly. Dean found himself strategizing about how to elicit more sounds from Sam the way he did with sexual partners, which was probably bad, so he stopped.

After a few seconds, Sam made a pouty whiny sound until Dean started up again. Figuring out the best way to get Sam to gasp and sigh wasn't all that different from knowing his tickle spots, Dean rationalized, grazing his fingernails from the top of Sam's forehead down the back of his neck. The sound Sam made then could only have been described as an honest to god moan. A porn star moan, not a ghost moan. Now Dean found himself thanking god for whiskey dick, which was the only thing keeping him from popping a huge boner centimeters away from his sleeping brother's face.

"Hey Dean?"

"What's up Sammy?"

Sam turned his head to look up into Dean's eyes and smiled sleepily. "Thanks. This was a fun Halloween." He kicked his feet under the covers and snuggled back into Dean's lap

"Don't mention it buddy." Warmth spread through Dean's chest as he placed his hand back on Sam's hair, petting it gently until they'd both fallen asleep.


	2. Mix Tape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short little chapter to tide y'all over until I get the smutty monstrosity that is chapter 3 finished. thanks to everyone who's commented!! your support really means a lot. <3 <3
> 
> unbetaed, so sorry if there are any weird mistakes. I feel kinda not so great about this chapter but OH WELL WHAT CAN YOU DO. I promise so much smut in the next chapter. Like two whole different scenes of smut. It's going to be so great.

They were settling in well. Dean had decided on renting a two bedroom house not too far from Sammy’s school and close enough to a bus stop that the kid didn’t need to worry about being late. Sam had already made friends and joined the school debate team. Even Dean had picked up a few shifts at a local garage.

Sam was smiling more, chattering excitedly about what he was learning in school, the books he was reading, wild small town gossip he’d heard from other kids. It killed Dean to know that it was temporary, that it would all be over soon enough. Sammy deserved this-- deserved nice and normal and predictable. He deserved a good school and a cool history teacher (who he wouldn’t shut up about) and a best friend even nerdier than himself. He deserved crushes on girls and awkward first dates and going to the homecoming dance and all that other normal teenage shit their lifestyle didn’t allow for.

Sam deserved parents. Actual living present parents. He deserved a brother he could look up to, not some dropout loser who was so fucked up that he was in love with his 15 year old baby brother. Sam deserved a house with a backyard and a dog and funny neighborhood kids who had all grown up together. He deserved roots and stability. And no matter how much Dean did, how much Dean tried, how much Dean cared, he could never give those things to Sam.

So as good as it felt every time Dean saw Sammy crack one of those brilliant smiles, it was also a painful reminder that this was just a little taste before it all got snatched away again. But Dean grinned through it-- teased Sam, fixed cars, played pool, flirted with women at bars (and went home with them more often than not). Rinse. Repeat. And if he tensed up every time his phone buzzed, terrified that Dad had changed his mind, no one around him seemed to notice.

* * *

The big clock on the wall read 5:00. Most of the teachers hated that the school couldn’t afford to have the custodial staff clean the classrooms every night, but Castiel liked cleaning. He could listen to music and space out, letting his body go into autopilot. Walking the old Hoover up and down the length of his classroom was like tending to a linoleum zen garden, with desks instead of rocks. Dusting the blinds, he could watch the sun go down out the window. It gave him a sense of ownership of the classroom, of which he usually only inhabited a small portion. He could think about lesson plans or sing along with his music or not think about anything at all. It was nice.

There was a graphing calculator on the floor. Castiel picked it up and read the name written in Sharpie on a strip of masking tape: “Sam Winchester”. It was an old model with scuff marks on the cover. Castiel locked it in his desk to give to Sam the next day.

The familiar bass opening of “Transmission” started, transporting him momentarily back. White plush carpet under bare feet. Leaning forward towards the sliding mirror door of his closet. Eyes stinging as he applied his sister’s black eyeliner. Thrilled with having the house to himself for the first time. Joy Division turned up on his stereo as loud as it would go. He was 14? 15? Drinking some (probably incredibly expensive) red wine straight out of the bottle, admiring how good his body looked in his new jeans. The tight black ones the punk kids at school wore. Messy swigs from the bottle as he bounced around the room. “Dance dance dance dance dance to the radio”-- Castiel realized now that it was the first time he’d ever felt good about his appearance.

He was startled out of his memory by a loud knock on the door. Castiel rushed to turn down the music and open it, still feeling a little bit like a guilty teenager. It was Sam, looking distressed and even more disheveled than usual.

“Hi Sam, what’s wrong?”

Sam launched into an explanation that was said too quickly to not have been rehearsed. “Hi Mr. Novak I’m so sorry to bother you after school sir but have you seen a graphing calculator? I can’t find mine and it’s really important and I’ve retraced all my steps and I haven’t found it.” He looked as though he was going to cry.

“Yes Sam it’s locked in my desk. Why don’t you come in?”

Sam stepped inside wordlessly, slumping into one of the desks as Castiel fetched his calculator and placed it in front of his student. Castiel moved to turn the music off, but Sam stopped him. “It’s alright. You can leave it on.” They were silent for a few seconds. Castiel suddenly realized that his hair was probably sticking out in all directions, and subtly tried to smooth it down.

“This is pretty cool,” Sam said, looking up at Castiel. The stress of the afternoon was still visible in his face, but it was joined by the sharp look of excited interest that Castiel had already seen so many times on Sam. “What is it?”

“Oh, this is Joy Division. They were actually one of my favorite bands when I was your age. What kinds of music are you into?”

Sam shrugged and looked down. “I don’t listen to the radio much, and all the tapes we have are my dad and brother’s.”

“What do they listen to?”

“Zeppelin, Kansas, AC/DC, Skynnyrd. Stuff like that. I heard someone call it ‘mullet rock’ once.”

Castiel pictured Sam stuffed in an old car with two alpha males blasting cock rock and shuddered inwardly. “Do you like it?”

Sam shrugged again. “It’s okay? I’ve never really been interested in music. It gets annoying hearing the same songs over and over though.”

“But you like this?”

Sam’s face lit up a little. “Yeah, this is cool.” He blushed a little, his hair flopping over his eyes endearingly. They listened to the rest of the song as Castiel packed his things for the day. Sam stepped into the hallway with him and began to walk away when Castiel stopped him.

“If you want I can make you a mix.”

Sam looked a little bit distressed again. “No. You don’t need to go through the trouble to do that.”

“Sam it’s really not difficult at all to make a mix CD. I already have many playlists that I listen to regularly.”

“My laptop speakers are broken right now and I don’t really have a CD player. It’s really not a big deal Mr. Novak.” Sam stared at his sneakers, clearly embarrassed.

“If you have a tape player, I can make you a tape. It’s really no trouble Sam, I promise. I used to make them all the time when I was in high school.”

Sam looked at him with suspicion, clearly doing math in his head to try to figure out if Castiel was much older than he looked. They spoke as they made their way to the exit of the school.

“We also made mix CDs, but we thought tapes were kind of...retro I guess.”

Sam smirked a little. "So you were a hipster in high school?"

Castiel sighed with a small smile. "High school, college, you know..."

Sam let out a small laugh. "Sorry Mr. Novak, I just can't picture you in skinny jeans and fake plastic glasses.”

“Mr. Winchester I will have you know that I never sunk so low as to wear fake glasses.” Sam laughed, his whole face lit up in a huge grin.

“See you Monday Mr. Novak.”

“See you Monday Sam. And for the record, I looked _great_ in skinny jeans.”

* * *

About a week after they’d talked, and Sam was sure Mr. Novak had forgotten, there was a cassette tape waiting on his desk when he arrived to class. When Sam got home he headed straight for his room, rifling through his duffle until he found Dean’s old cassette player and shitty headphones. He hoped they still worked. He pulled the tape gingerly from his pocket, reading the label written in Mr. Novak’s straightforward block lettering. "MIXTAPE FOR SAM" Sam smiled and slipped the tape in, putting the headphones on and pressing play.

All he heard at first was the hiss of blank tape. An electric guitar started playing. The riff was simple but still kind of moody. A woman started singing-- her voice sneering and biting but still slow and drawling. The guitar just kept playing that same riff over and over again. Sam felt his head nodding along as the song built in intensity, the singer growling and yelling, then talk-singing petulantly, then screaming again. Sam had heard a lot of music with squealing electric guitars and screaming vocalists, but none of it was like this. This was raw. When Robert Plant screamed, Sam always felt like he was screaming because it sounded good. This woman's scream was ugly. It was real. It was pissed off. "Go on take everything take everything I want you to!" Sam bet she could kick Robert Plants ass. The music stayed simple: no long solos, no flashy musicianship, but it was really GOOD. It was short too. Only a few minutes long. Some of the stuff Dean and Dad played felt like it lasted for hours.

Sam laid back in bed, putting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. All of the songs on the tape ended up being pretty short, and most of them sounded more like he was overhearing a band playing in a backyard down the street than like he was listening to something recorded in a studio. There were a few songs that made him want to grind his hips, a couple that made him want to jump up and down, but most of them were wistful and kind of nostalgic. They were sweet and strange and tinged with sadness.

After the tape finished, Sam flipped it over and started it again, nodding off halfway through side A.

* * *

anna_milton: you gave him a _mix tape_?

cnovak: yeah, so?

anna_milton: a tape. you made him a tape.

cnovak: he doesn’t have a CD player Anna.

anna_milton: what was on it?

cnovak: stuff from my ‘favorite songs’ playlist

anna_milton: CAS

anna_milton: everything on that playlist is either a love song or super sexual

anna_milton: please tell me you didn’t put anything from Avalon on a mix tape that you made for a 15 year old boy

cnovak: I don’t understand why you’re being weird about this. I gave you a mix with a lot of those songs and you’re my sister.

anna_milton: yeah I _know_ I’m your sister but cas, because I’m your sister and I’ve known you for 28 years, I know that you aren’t trying to hit on me.

anna_milton: wait oh cas no please tell me you didn’t put ‘to turn you on’ on there

cnovak: please Anna give me _some_ credit okay? all of the really sexy songs were removed.

anna_milton: what about cactus

cnovak:...

cnovak: I mean do you really count that as a sexy song?

anna_milton: YES

cnovak: okay, ONE sexy song. everything else is fine.

anna_milton: what other pixies did you put on there?

anna_milton: if you say gigantic I’m getting on a plane to kick some sense into you.

cnovak: just hey. I don’t understand why you’re being so weird about this.

anna_milton: cas you’re going to get yourself fired for being an adorable idiot. what else is on there?

cnovak: Anna you are completely overreacting.

cnovak: I don’t know. Some Mirah, some Smiths, Hole, Velvet Underground, a Belle & Sebastian song

anna_milton: is he gay?

cnovak: What?

anna_milton: you basically made him a “Intro to Being a Queer Indie Kid” mix

cnovak: Not everything is about sexuality Anna.

anna_milton: oh yeah? which smiths songs did you put on there? handsome devil?

cnovak: Cemetery Gates

anna_milton: CEMETERY GATES IS THE GAYEST ONE

cnovak: I hate you.

anna_milton: lol I bet you put the magnetic fields on there

cnovak: Just ONE song

anna_milton: so he’s gay

cnovak: How am I supposed to know if he’s gay? I’m not in the habit of asking all new students if they’re gay or not. _That’s_ the kind of thing that would get me fired. Not making mixtapes.

anna_milton: Castiel.

cnovak: I don’t know if he’s gay. I get a vibe off of him though.

anna_milton: CASTIEL

cnovak: Not an attraction vibe. More of a kindred spirit kind of vibe.

anna_milton: well what do you know about him?

cnovak: Not much? All I know is that he’s a really smart, nice kid who moves around a lot. His father is his legal guardian but his older brother is his emergency contact. No mention of a mom.

anna_milton: okay Sherlock. what do you DEDUCE about him?

cnovak: Really Anna? We stopped doing this when we were 13.

anna_milton: I’m waiting.

cnovak: Fine. His clothes are all both too big for him and a little short on him. Probably hand-me-downs from the older brother. Instead of wearing a coat, he wears a jacket with 4 shirts underneath. My guess is that he’s also pretty poor. If caught off guard, he calls authority figures “Sir” and starts to stand at attention before realizing what he’s doing and trying to act more casual. This tells me that dad is military, maybe older brother too. His hair is on the long side though, which makes me think he’s doing a little bit of rebelling against the military type household. When you give him a compliment, he lights up like it’s Christmas morning, even if it’s just saying he did a good job on a quiz, or that he said something smart in class. It’s obvious that he’s not accustomed to praise. The more praise I’ve given him, the more motivated and eager he’s been. I don’t think he gets much in the way of approval or affection at home.

anna_milton: that part sounds familiar

cnovak: Anna it kills me to see that look in this kid’s eyes. It’s like I’m the first person who’s ever told him he was smart.

anna_milton: is he?

cnovak: He’s brilliant. Smarter than me. One of the smartest people I’ve ever met. I’m amazed a life of being moved around so much hasn’t affected him more.

anna_milton: what do you mean?

cnovak: I mean, he has clearly been through some things. But I’ve seen kids with bad home lives before. I’ve BEEN one of those kids. And Sam has this boundless enthusiasm, and the more you feed it, the more enthusiastic he gets. He’s insatiable. He wants to learn EVERYTHING. And he has this face that’s just completely open. You can always tell exactly what he’s feeling just by looking at him. When he’s putting pieces together in his head, figuring out connections between ideas and events, you can see the cogs turning in his mind. No poker face to speak of. Sometimes I see him smiling to himself when he’s figured out an answer to a test question. Not a smug self-satisfied grin, but a sincere smile like you wouldn’t believe. With teeth and dimples and everything. Smiling bright as the sun over a high school test question.

anna_milton: his name is Sam?

cnovak: Yes. Sam Winchester.

anna_milton: listen cas, I see what you’re trying to do here and I think it’s great. just promise me you’ll be careful.

cnovak: Anna, I love you, but you’re definitely being an overprotective big sister right now. Everything is fine. I became a teacher so I could teach. That’s all I’m doing.

anna_milton: I love you too cas. good night

cnovak: Have a good day Anna.

Anna frowned as she watched her little brother sign out of chat. She lit a cigarette and listened to her upstairs neighbor vacuuming, an S-Bahn train in the distance but growing closer, a siren far away, wind in the trees outside her window. She closed her laptop and leaned back in her chair, taking a slow drag off her cigarette, her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look! It's Anna!! I love human AUs where Anna is Cas' rad older sister. And I love Anna. So here she is as Cas' rad older sister who lives in Berlin and is the one who introduced him to cool music. Just as a note though, I as an author am not knocking classic rock as a genre. That's all Cas' snobbery. He's a snob. It will be addressed. I'm not a jerk I swear.
> 
> also! I hope to have the actual mixtape up for download before I post the next chapter. it's real!  
> here's the tracklisting:  
> Hole-Violet  
> Beat Happening- Teenage Caveman  
> The Smiths- Cemetary Gates  
> The Magnetic Fields- I Looked All Over Town  
> Mirah- Gone Sugaring  
> Pixies- Cactus  
> Joy Division- Transmission  
> TV On the Radio- Wolf Like Me  
> Belle & Sebastian- I Could Be Dreaming  
> Mirah- Sweepstakes Prize  
> Pixies- Hey  
> The Velvet Underground- Pale Blue Eyes


End file.
